


Rhythm of Want

by orphan_account



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Drunkenness, Eventual Smut, Feeling B era, First Experience With Other Men, Flake Gets Some, Fluff, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RATING SOON TO CHANGE, Schneider Has A Secret Cookie Stash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Paul explores his newfound sexuality with Schneider, who is looking to do the same.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	Rhythm of Want

The door slams and left in the living room is Paul and Schneider, who can’t help but feel incredulous. Their equally bewildered gazes shift from staring down the hallway to looking at each other, and it’s Paul that decides to say what is clearly on both of their minds.

“Who would’ve ever thought that Flake is such a pussy magnet?”

Shaking his head, Schneider cannot offer any good response that could fully articulate his disbelief. Instead, he decides to stumble to the kitchen to get on with the coffee that he said he’d make for the both of them to take the edge off the liquor before heading to bed. Paul isn’t so sure he believes that it will prevent a hangover like Schneider says it will, but he figures that there’s no harm in trying, and that regardless, coffee sounds really, really good right about now. He follows him into the kitchen and leans at the counter across from Schneider.

“This is like, the third time he’s brought someone home!” Paul goes on. “It has to either be something about that particular bar that makes him so lucky, or Flake has some supernatural power that makes him irresistible to women. Schneider, I need answers.”

Schneider pours the water into the coffee machine and shoots Paul a look over his shoulder. “Is it possible that we’re both a little ugly and have no game, and that Flake is easy on the eyes and has mad seduction skills?” His eyebrow twitches with the tease, and a grin tugs at his lips. 

Paul gives him a flat, unamused look in return and says pointedly, “Schneider, that may be true for you. But I know that I am the sexiest man alive,” which draws laughter out of the both of them. When the laughter fades, it is clear that Flake’s headboard is suddenly making a rhythmic banging that can be heard through the apartment. Paul scrunches up his face and shakes his head lightly. “I haven’t really even been trying lately, though. Trying to find a hook-up is really exhausting. Doesn’t interest me like it used to anymore.” There is additional information that hangs on the tip of Paul’s tongue about the particulars of why he’s burnt out on chasing women, but he opts not to volunteer it. 

Hip jutting into the counter, Schneider turns to face Paul, crosses his arms and meditates on this statement. “Twenty-six is a little young to be burnt out on women,” he muses, alcohol subtly slurring his voice. He teeters his head back and forth as he ponders his own statement before his hand moves to rub at his eyes, as though it will make him think any clearer. “Though I kinda feel the same way – chasing down a one-night stand doesn’t appeal to me as much as going home, laying down, and watching TV, and I’m only twenty-four. So.”

“It’s like our youth is over. Ugh! What’s next for us, Schneider? Hip replacements? Pension plans?” He jokes, looking up at the taller man with wide, pleading eyes. Paul mocks looking like he wants to cry, clutching his chest, as though he’s too young to have a pension. 

“What’s next is winding down, drinking some coffee, and going to sleep.”

With Paul still pretending to look stricken, Schneider turns away as he rummages in the cabinet for something to pair with their coffee. Reaching above the stove, in a cabinet not often opened by anybody else in the apartment, behind a bag of rice, a can of beans, and a box of spätzle, he finds what he’s looking for. He pulls down a round blue tin, on which a note with thick black marker writing is taped: SCHNEIDER’S, DON’T TOUCH. From another cabinet, Schneider pulls out a plate before popping the lid of the tin open, pinching out a portion of cookies to place upon it, and setting it next to Paul.

“I didn’t know you had a secret cookie stash,” Paul muses as he picks up one of the small square treats, nibbling a corner.

“Then it seems my hiding spot worked,” he replies, putting the lid back on the tin and shoving it to the back of the cabinet once more. “Guess you’re too short to see up there, huh?”

“Hey!” Paul playfully snaps around a mouthful of cookie, a couple crumbs falling from the corner of his lips.

The coffee machine gurgles, which moves Schneider to get two mismatched mugs out of the dishwasher (it’s seriously Flake’s turn to unload it). Paul likes his particularly rich and sweet, and the coffee is practically bleached white by the added milk when Schneider places it into his hands. In contrast, Schneider drinks his black.

In the silence that passes between them, the thudding of the headboard, along with the moans of the woman Flake has, comes to their attention once again. Schneider grits and bares his teeth and they both visibly recoil in disgust at the sounds. 

“Hey. Maybe you can come to my room and I can put on some music, so we don’t have to hear this?”

Paul doesn’t even answer, but instead just grabs the plate of cookies and makes his way towards the far back of the apartment, nudging his way into Schneider’s room. 

The bedside lamp is still turned on from before they left to go to the bar. A simple yet sturdy dark wood desk with a light wood chair sits underneath the big window, with books neatly lined up with a jar of coins acting as the bookend. A large bed tucked into the corner of the room, sheets wild and unmade. Bedside table with the lit lamp, an open book set face down, a set of keys perched on the edge. It is sparse, but Paul makes no other assumptions or judgements other than that Schneider seems organized and doesn’t keep around unnecessary burdens, both of which he certainly admires. God knows his bedroom could benefit from some tidying, but Paul, even in acknowledging this, knows he won’t do it; so is life. 

Sitting at the head of the bed, Paul stretches his legs out and he sips at his drink. Schneider makes quick work of clicking on his stereo system and rewinding the tape that’s already in it. The tape plays, and it instantly works to cover up the sounds of Flake and his hook-up fucking on the other side of the apartment. The music is something unfamiliar that Paul cannot discern. It’s some sort of prog rock yet sung in a language that is definitely not German.

“What’s this?” Paul questions after Schneider joins him on the bed, leaning against the wall and criss-crossing his legs.

The other man gives an earnest shrug and looks honestly confused himself. The coffee mug hovers close to his lips as he answers. “I honestly have no idea. I picked it up in Czechoslovakia a few years ago because the cover art looked cool. But I couldn’t tell you how to pronounce their name or any of their songs.”

Interesting, Paul thinks, offering the other man a small nod before taking in a mouthful of his drink once more. Schneider is an original, something that Paul concluded when he first joined Feeling B and moved into their apartment a few months before. Which means that he makes for excellent company and offers Paul interesting challenges in facing new concepts and ideas that he would’ve otherwise never given a chance or thought to – even if it’s just strange foreign music. And he challenges himself, even if it’s just reading one of his many books so that he can learn something new about an idea or topic he never would’ve given any regard otherwise. It makes Paul intrigued in Schneider and what he has to say.

Paul observes, as he sees that on the side table, open and lying face down, sits an apparent challenge in progress: a book. The paperback cover has creases and folds and is missing a corner, and the spine is cracked to hell, barely holding the whole thing together. The title is in English, and Paul picks it up and takes a closer look at it, but he has a hard time translating the title to himself.

“What are you reading now, Schneider?”

“Oh, that? It’s a British romance that I picked up at a thrift shop for cheap. Nothing much to it,” Schneider replies.

“Well, color me impressed. I didn’t know you knew enough English to power through a book,” Paul acclaims. 

“I’m working on my English,” corrects Schneider. “Really, I’m trying to read through that to build up my reading comprehension, looking up the words I don’t understand.”

“Cool! English is a really good language to learn nowadays,” Paul responds. God knows that he needs to learn more than just how to introduce himself and ask for directions on a street. “I would read the summary on the back, but seeing as I _don’t_ speak English all that well, what’s it about?”

“Oh,” says Schneider, winding up for the explanation. “Well, it’s actually a love story between two men. There’s a lot of things that hold them back from being together, like society’s expectations, their families, their social statuses. It’s your basic romance but it’s very well put together, I think.” He looks away, almost seeming embarrassed that he’s admitting to reading something like this. Contrary to him, Paul thinks that it’s really sweet – nothing to be ashamed of.

“Do you think they’re going to end up together?” Paul asks, voice soft, almost dreamy. He lazily fixes his gaze on Schneider, who cannot offer anything better than a shrug. 

“They seem like a good couple, so. I hope so.” Even though Paul has no idea about the deeper plot of the book beyond what Schneider briefly told him, he hopes that they will, too; everyone deserves happy endings. 

Paul hesitates, and his heart is in his throat, his stomach twisting with the tension of the questions that burns in his mind. It’s an innocent question, after all, one that doesn’t require anything more than a yes or no, but one that he’s nonetheless curious about. After all, why else would a man like Schneider be keen to read a book like that? He manages a shuddering breath before he speaks. “This might be an odd question, but… have you ever thought about men in that way ever?” Adrenaline rushes through him, and he can feel his pulse in his neck and his wrists, thrumming with the mixture of the thrill of daring to ask the question and the anticipation of the answer. It brushes so close against the core of an unaddressed aspect of the self, and it’s the first time he’s ever said something of the sort out loud, even just in passing reference. He swallows hard as he averts his gaze down into his coffee, finding the reflection of the ceiling on the surface. 

Schneider traces the rim of his cup with the tip of his index finger, looking at him with a quirked brow and a steady set of blue eyes, of which Paul meets, doubling down on his question, certainly not one to back down. The first to break eye contact is Schneider, who stares down into his drink. Paul heard once that those who lie avoid eye contact while they are doing so, but he’s also understood it to generalize out to the behavior of someone who is avoiding saying something. He’s not sure if he should interpret Schneider’s behavior as such. Perhaps it’s something else that he hasn’t thought of as well. 

Fleetingly, he wonders if it’s obvious that he’s probing, investigating, trying to cut to a part of Schneider that he’s wants to know more of. Perhaps he’s even exposing himself, blatantly asking something like this. Then suddenly, Schneider’s eyebrow twitches and the left corner of his mouth tugs itself into a wide smirk, which Paul interprets as him being amused, or at the very least, interested. This works to ease some tension off of Paul, knowing that his prying has been well received. “You’re asking me because of that book?” Schneider questions, a breathy laugh tucked in the middle of the sentence. 

Shrugging, Paul tries to maintain his collected, conversational composure as he replies. “Well yeah. I don’t know,” he reels, making a motion with his hand, and he tries to justify this, to explain why he’s asking this question in the first place, because really, it’s none of his business. Except that if he doesn’t know, it will gnaw at him just like the issue of wanting to fuck other men gnaws at him currently. He’s admittedly tired of feeling like he’s the only one carrying this, feeling this, being this, and he’s hoping that Schneider is like him because it would mean that he’s not the only person this side of Germany who is this way. Would make him a little less lonely. “It’s something that is becoming more accepted every day, so that people like the ones in your story can live their lives the way they want to,” he articulates. He hopes that he’s not being transparent. Schneider is still looking at him, looking almost cross but absolutely at attention, like this is some of the most interesting conversation he’s heard all week. Paul swiftly moves to his conclusion. “I was just wondering if being with a man is something you’ve ever considered as a possibility. It’s not like it’s a bad thing or anything, I honestly don’t care either way, but. I dunno…” he trails off with a flippant shrug, casting a soft look at Schneider. His bed has been made, and now he’s lying in it – allowing this to go wherever it may.

The other man makes a sound indicating he understands what Paul is trying to get at, and he pulls in his lips and furrows his brow, face neutralizing from amused to more serious as he contemplates what Paul has offered to him. He is not looking at Paul anymore, but at some indeterminate point on the bed, eyes slowly moving and tracing as though he’s reading the creases and folds of the comforter underneath them, perhaps finding some meaning in the blue and green plaid patterning. Maybe he is finding his answer in there as well. Silence hangs thickly between them, and Paul nurses at his coffee, all the while noticing that Schneider has gone all but still, save for the slow narrowing of his eyes. It feels like forever before he answers, and it’s then that Paul starts to worry that maybe this is the true indication of the other man’s offence, but it’s only a beat before Schneider offers an interesting reply.

“You really want an honest answer?” Schneider asks, face perfectly neutral save for his softened, widened eyes as he raises his eyebrows at Paul. Vulnerability is thick in his voice, a low even tone, and he can see it in his eyes, almost like he’s been caught doing something wrong. If there was ever a line to be crossed, Paul is certain that he has found it, by the way that Schneider seems about ready to admit something.

“Only if you want to be,” Paul tells him in flatly in response, giving him a soft look. However, Schneider does not make any indication of wanting to back away from the question, and he doubles down with a wave of his hand.

“It’s something I’ve not said out loud, but yeah. I’ve thought about men in that way. For quite a long time, actually,” Schneider says evenly, slowly, carefully crafting his brand-new combination of words as they formed themselves off his lips. Paul nods, but he has to admit that this is not the outcome he was expecting, and he feels surprised, pleasantly so. Somewhere inside of him he feels an immense warmth, and a reverence for his boldness, something that certainly garners Paul’s respect – a tiny smile briefly gathers at the corners of his lips. Not to mention relief; finally, someone who might just understand what this all means. Schneider continues: “I’ve never done anything about it, though, so I guess I’m not really sure whether or not I’m really... you know. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot more lately,” Schneider explains, and he shrugs dismissively while he raises his coffee to his lips and takes a sip. “Yeah. So, now that we’re getting personal, I guess I get to ask. What about you?”

Paul didn’t anticipate that it would get this far, that the question would be turned back around on him, but more than that, he didn’t anticipate that he would actually have to be honest himself. It felt likelier that Schneider would laugh, pass over the question altogether with the answer that Paul thought he was certain to hear (‘I’ve never considered men even for a second’), maybe protect himself with denials, and move on with their night. But Schneider was open and genuine when he could’ve just as easily withheld his truth altogether, and so Paul feels obliged to follow suit. Cautions to the wind, emboldened by the confession of the other man, he says “Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about… men, as well. For a long time. Um. But yeah, I’ve never gone any further than just thinking, if you know what I mean. I guess you and I are kind of in the same boat there.”

Their eyes snap together then, examining each other with this newfound knowledge of the other, both taken aback by the confessions. A brief silence is shared between them as they process what they have both admitted to each other. The tension is so palpable and visceral that Paul imagines that he could cut it like cloth. 

It’s unexpected, but it occurs to Paul that he would be interested in exploring this further with Schneider. Strictly on the basis of understanding more about what this is. After all, he’s never met another person like him in his life, one who has wanted to indulge in desire for other men. Now at least he has someone that he could just talk to, to figure out how to live and be like this. It’s a thought that offers some comfort to Paul. It also gives another point to Schneider in the ranking of bandmates that he enjoys being around and would like to hang out with more, because of an additionally shared commonality.

Another thought suggests itself in the midst of these ideas, and never before has he felt so daring. The inward suggestion has his heart pounding, threatening to punch its way out of his sternum, as he sets his mug down on the side table and folds his hands in his lap, looking determinedly at Schneider. They’ve never done anything with other people, and they’re comfortable enough with each other, even as friends, so he reasons that perhaps it’s not a stretch to suggest this. He’s unsure what takes over him, but it’s a nerve that provokes him to move, to do this, even as he, thinking somewhere distantly, isn’t sure this is the best of ideas. Before he can stop himself, he pushes against his own hesitations, the fears, the uncertainties that gnaw at him in the background, and he speaks.

“Schneider, do you trust me?”

Schneider eyes him warily, looking him up and down, and he pulls his arms in from his lap to cross over his belly, his mug curled in his hand to press lightly against his chest, and Paul takes note of how defensive the gesture is, as though he’s protecting himself from Paul’s intentions. “Why do you ask?” he presses, tone firm and yet guarded. Paul bites his lower lip, and he isn’t sure how to proceed, but he continues anyway, steeling himself with a weighted breath.

“Can I… can I try something?”

“Paul, what are you suggesting?” Schneider questions firmly, skepticism thick in his tone, head visibly recoiling away, but whatever Schneider is thinking, that’s not what Paul wants.

“Nothing bad or weird, just. An experiment. Gimme your hand… Can I…?” Paul reaches his hands out towards Schneider, an invitation for him to place his hand into his and meet his touch. There is clear hesitation in Schneider’s eyes, and he looks so uncertain, scared, like he’s not sure where this is going, if this is a good idea either. Paul would not blame him if he declined, because he’s not so sure either. His hands hangs in the air for a beat before he sees Schneider breathe out some of his tension in a long exhale, visibly relaxing. 

Schneider sets his coffee down on the floor, a subtle indication that he’s willing to indulge Paul, looking expectant but still so unsure. Paul has never been so bold as he scoots himself closer to Schneider. Those blue eyes shimmer with the anticipation of what Paul will do, looking still a little guarded, but willing. Slowly, deliberately, carefully, Schneider offers his hand out, and Paul lightly wraps his fingers around Schneider’s wrist, and briefly offers him a small smile, to which a small smile is returned; he does trust him after all, despite his incertitude, to allow Paul to lead him somewhere he does not know of, and it’s a trust that Paul feels he is privileged to have. Paul trusts Schneider as well, as he takes the other man’s hand, raises it to press against his own cheek, other man’s palm flat against the plane of his face.

The touch is hot against him, and the warmth spreads to radiate throughout the rest of him. As small and straightforward as it is, the touch is pleasing against his skin, and it instills in him an affection that flushes Paul’s face and knots his stomach. He’d always enjoyed being touched in these ways that were loving and intimate – hands against his cheeks, fingertips along his sides, strokes over his thighs – but seldom found anybody that was as willing to give them as to receive them. Nonetheless, it is a simple gesture, and what Paul finds to be a good place to start in further exploring what men have to offer with the most basic of skin to skin contacts. 

After a moment, with his rigidity melted away, Schneider experimentally moves his thumb over the flesh in gentle strokes. “Is this okay?” Paul asks, cautiously, searching for discomfort in his face, but finds none, and Schneider nods as he leans himself into the other man, closing some of the space between them. Paul moves into the touch, pressing his cheek more firmly into Schneider’s hand, eyes fluttering shut as he does so, eyebrows knit in concentration as he absorbs the feeling. “This is nice,” Paul says, and his hand presses firmly against the back of Schneider’s, a gesture of positive affirmation. 

He honestly can’t believe how wonderful it feels, to have even just this minimal skin contact. It’s an intimacy that fills his middle with an immense fluttering sensation. Blood fills his cheeks in a crimson rush. Breath shallows in his lungs. While he knows that it’s unorthodox to be doing this with his friend, his bandmate, his roommate, he can’t help but enjoy it in the way he does. And it scratches the surface of an aspect of the self that he’s suspected for quite a while – that women, though lovely in their own right, are not what Paul is attracted to. It is this, with the large hand that cups his cheek, callouses catching at his skin, all with a man, and it’s that fact that he finds fills him with the most interest. 

Paul looks through his lashes to gaze at Schneider, who meets his eyes, and he sees that the other man, too, looks flushed, a scarlet stain painting his features, his soft eyes rounded in wonder. While Paul had been losing himself in Schneider’s touch, the other man had closed more distance between them, leaning in as if to more deeply examine Paul’s unravelment. He searches in the other man’s fixed stare, hoping that if he looks hard enough, he’ll find what Schneider is thinking and feeling, moving like a film reel in his irises. 

Schneider straightens a little and swallows after a moment, and there’s a tick of silence that passes between them before he speaks, voice hardly above a whisper, and so fragile but laced with so much want that it sears Paul’s belly with anticipation: “Can I… can I try something now?”

Paul’s eyes light up with the curiosity, and he nods into Schneider’s hand, and he’s willing to see how far Schneider wants to go.

Schneider huffs a breath, steeling himself, and the distance between themselves closes and then disappears as he leans into Paul, and parts his lips, bringing their faces as close as they can be without making any physical contact as he hesitates. Breath ghosts over Paul’s skin, a warm passing caress. Paul is certain that he can feel the other man’s body heat in the close proximity, and he imagines that Schneider is making useless little observations of his own. 

Both of their eyes instinctively close as they equally meet in the middle, lips connecting.

It is a kiss that does not demand, does not overstep its bounds, and does not overstay its welcome. One firm, yet tender press of their lips against each other’s that fills Paul’s core with an incendiary rush, and he can’t hear himself think over the whoosh of blood that fills his ears, and it’s like time stands still. It feels like forever, but after the lingering of only a couple of seconds, they are parting from each other. They find each other’s eyes once more, bewilderment and amazement rich on Schneider’s face, and he’s sure that he mirrors that.

“Now we’ve both done just more than thinking,” Paul murmurs, which pulls Schneider’s lips into a grin.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you, for letting me do that. I liked that.”

“Me, too.”

A knock at the door. 

Paul and Schneider instantly put distance between each other as they both return to their starting positions on the bed. They share a fleeting embarrassed and fearful look with each other, a mutual ‘oh shit we almost just got caught,’ and they smirk; two thieves who stole a kiss and got away with the crime. Schneider calls out for Flake to come in. 

The door cracks open and there is Flake, who looks perfectly debauched, which is consistent with the fact that the last thirty or so minutes have been spent fucking someone in the next room over. His hair is haphazard and disorganized, clothes disheveled and wrinkled, which works in tandem with how unwound he looks, the picture of sexual satisfaction. Paul vaguely wonders if it’s obvious that they just kissed, if there was some way to tell by the way they both look, by the way they’re tensely sitting, if they left behind some sort of evidence for their keyboardist to find written on their lips. If there is, Flake doesn’t say anything about it. 

“So, she left, so you don’t have to worry about seeing her tomorrow. And, uh, thanks for being super cool about everything, as always. I’ll have to make you guys some Bienenstich sometime.”

“That better be a promise,” Schneider replies with no bite, lazily pointing a finger at the man.

“Cross my heart. Goodnight,” he says, and shuts the door on them once again. 

Schneider and Paul share a knowing glance; a moment of silence passes between them before Paul is running his hand over his face with a sigh.

“I suppose I should be going to bed, then,” Paul says, and he moves to get up off of Schneider’s bed, and goddamn, he’s more tired that he thought he was, and now that Flake isn’t keeping the whole damn apartment up with his obnoxious romp, he finally feels it hitting him.

“Paul?”

Paul looks down at Schneider as he collects his mug with intent on vacating the room. “Hmm?”

“I suppose it goes without saying that this is, uh, between you and me?” Schneider looks wide-eyed at him, very steeled and yet with a thinly conceiled exposure lingering behind his gaze, and Paul knows that he’s a little shaken because Paul is, too, he’s just slightly better at keeping his composure. He just kissed a man. Not any man, but a friend, a bandmate. But this doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just skin on skin. Nothing more. It would’ve been no different if it had been with Tatjana. The only thing that puts his relationship apart from Schneider’s is their gender. Aside from that, it’s nobody’s business but theirs – Flake and Aljosha and everyone else have no need to know. These thoughts stabilize him, calm him. This wasn’t really anything to get worked up about.

But yes, he will keep it to himself. 

“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

Schneider visibly relaxes and offers him a smile, and it touches Paul, to know that Schneider trusts him so much. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says in return, and leaves Schneider there, looking dazed, sitting up in his bed, the click of the door closing ending their interaction for the night.

Then he returns to his own room, curling himself up in both of his sheets, allowing the heightened beating of his heart to subside before crashing into the hold of sleep with the taste of Schneider on his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always appreciated (please feel free to leave comments, they make me so happy! ;_; )


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